Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Hunter
A million thoughts fill my mind as I head down Main Street toward the post office to check my post office box.
Whisper Cove is such a quaint small town.
It's so different from New York City, yet I feel more at home here than I've ever felt anywhere else. I gaze out at the calm, turquoise-blue water and watch as some young sailors head out to the bay. It’s a nice day, with a mild wind, and for a few moments, I think about going on a boat ride. I tilt my head up to the sun and stand there for a couple of moments, allowing the warmth of the day to kiss and caress my skin. I feel myself calming down and take a few deep breaths. I’m still upset that someone stole my grandmother’s necklace, but I just don’t know who it could have been.
Even my grandparents had been shocked by the blatant theft.
I know my grandfather, and I still hoped that Grandma had somehow misplaced it.
I didn't even want to think about the possibility that Gina could have taken it.
She crosses my mind as I walk past Christie's Cupcakes and Bakery, and I think about that day for a moment. I debate popping in to see if they have any of the Strawberry Special cupcakes that I got the other day, but laugh to myself at the thought of taking one home for Gina. I’m not sure what she would say if I turned up with one.
I continue on my way, turn the corner, and get ready to cross the street when all of a sudden, I hear my name shouted.
I look to the side in surprise, first noticing the two pigeons fighting over a piece of bread and then noticing the crowd of people gazing at me.
I stifle a groan as my shoulders tense up.
“Hunter Waverly! Hunter Waverly! Can we ask you a couple of questions?” Four men with cameras come running over to me, shouting loudly, and I increase my pace and ignore them.
I should have known they would find me. The paparazzi are here in Whisper Cove.
My privacy is now officially gone. Even Whisper Cove isn’t safe from this scum.
I know it's a job for them, but constant hounding feels invasive.
“Hunter Waverly! Can I get your attention?" A bald man full of tattoos starts running toward me. "I’m from the New York Sun. My name is Daniel Marque. Can I ask you a question?”
“No,” I say, avoiding eye contact and continuing to walk quickly. There is no way I want to speak to any of these reporters.
“Is it true that you and Sophia Limone are about to get married? Can you confirm or deny the allegations that she is pregnant? Can you confirm or deny the talk that you're already married and have a baby?”
“No.” I move faster. Just hearing Sophia's name makes my blood boil.
“Can we get a definitive answer from you about your engagement?”
“No,” I say loudly. “Please just leave me alone.” I increase my pace and keep my head down.
“But, Hunter, everyone wants to know why you disappeared from—”
“Enough,” I say, running away from them. I hate this. I left New York City to get away from the constant interrogations into my personal life. I wonder how they found me. Will my life always be like this?
There used to be a time in my life when I didn’t mind the paparazzi so much. Back then, I was quite honored to be considered an eligible bachelor. But then, everything changed.
I run into a bodega, and I’m pleased to see that the paparazzi don’t follow me inside. Even they have some boundaries.
“Good afternoon. How can we help you today?” a teenage boy with eager eyes and spotty skin asks. This is most probably his first job, so I don’t want to snap at him.
“I just came to see if you had any ice cream,” I say quickly, though I don’t really eat ice cream. Perhaps my grandma or some of the members of the writing group will be interested in having some.
“We actually have homemade ice cream from Whisper Cove’s finest ice cream maker, Gelato Heaven.”
“Okay, great.” I look around.
“If you head to the back, you’ll see all the different flavors we have. Would you like me to escort you?”
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.” I head to the back of the small store and wonder how long I’ll have to wait around.
I see out of my peripheral vision that someone is heading toward me, and I snap my head, thinking it’s a photographer.
However, it’s just an elderly woman with a large eggplant in her hands.
My lips twitch at the sight. There's a funny joke inside of me that I’m not going to make.
I look at the freezer with the different flavors of ice cream and have no idea what to get.
“Do you want some help, young man?” she asks, beaming up at me, her blue eyes light and vibrant.
“I don’t suppose you’ve tried this ice cream, have you? I’ve been told it’s the best in Whisper Cove. I just don’t know what flavors to get.”
“Oooh. I’m partial to vanilla myself, but my husband loves the lemon chiffon, and my grandkids love the mint chocolate chip." She smiles up at me and looks down at my hand. “Are you getting it for yourself or your wife?”
I stare at her and cock my head. “I’m not married,” I say.
She continues to look down at my ring finger. “Oh, I’m sure you won’t be single for long.” I just nod my head because, for all I know, she’s an undercover paparazzi trying to get information from me.
“Well, thank you for your help. I guess I’ll try the mint chocolate chip.
Hard to go wrong with that.” I grab a pint of the ice cream and then head to the checkout.
I’m pleased to see that the paparazzi are no longer standing outside when I exit.
They must be following another lead. I know the island is full of rich and famous people.
I had really hoped that I’d be able to have time to myself—away from the media, away from the press, away from everyone who wants my story or who wants to know about my life.
There are big things that happened, but I’m not ready to share them yet.
I don’t know if I’ll ever want to share them.
But I know that the press is relentless.
I walk back into the house an hour later and notice that the living room is empty.
The writers group has left for the day, which surprises me because sometimes it feels like they live here.
I head toward the kitchen so I can put the ice cream in the freezer and grab a beer before heading back to my cabin.
I need to make some calls and speak to my grandfather about the private investigator he's hired to figure out what happened to the necklace.
As I take the beer out of the fridge, I see Gina walking in, holding an empty glass in her hand.
“Oh, hi,” she says, looking slightly nervous. “I didn’t know you were in here.”
“And if you did, would you still have come in?” I can't help but move closer to her. Her hair is wet, and she smells like fresh peaches. I just want to breathe her in, but I know how creepy that sounds.
“I’m literally just returning this glass." She heads toward the sink. "I had some orange juice earlier."
"Interesting conversation. Thank you for that information." She just snorts at my comment and rinses out the glass in the sink.
“I have a question for you, Gina.”
“Go ahead, Hunter.” She places the glass in the dishwasher, turns to me with folded arms, and raises her eyebrows at me.
There's an air of defiance in her gaze, yet I can see the way her eyes keep darting at every inch of my body.
She can't hide the fact that she is attracted to me, and I love that.
"Go ahead,” she prods me again as I just watch her watching me.
“Did you steal the necklace?” I take two steps toward her and look her directly in the eyes. I want to see exactly how she reacts to my question. Her face goes a deep, dark red, and her eyes flash at me angrily.
“No, I did not steal the necklace, and frankly, I don’t appreciate the question.”
“Are you just saying that?”
“No, I’m not just saying that.” Her voice gets louder. “I can’t believe that you would think for one moment that I would steal.”
“Because I know you so well? You’re going to tell me that I know everything there is to know about you?”
"Obviously, I don’t think you know everything there is to know about me. But I would hope from the few interactions that we have had that you would think that I was a good person.” She licks her lips and lets out a low sigh.
“I never said that I didn't think that."
"Then why would you accuse me of—"
"I didn't accuse you of stealing it. I asked you a simple question. I wanted to see how you reacted, and I guess I’ll believe you for now.” My every sense is heightened as I take in her every movement.
The way her nostrils flare, the way her lips tremble, the way her eyes shoot fire at me.
Gina is genuinely pissed by my question.
I would be shocked if she's faking it. Her hazel eyes appear greener right now, and I love how vibrant they are.
I love how full of life she is. How she doesn't hold back from letting me know exactly how she feels.
“What do you mean, for now?”
“I mean, I haven’t decided whether or not I think you are actually guilty. Like I just said, I asked you the question again because I wanted to see how you reacted. I wanted to see the look in your eyes. You looked offended, but you could be a good actress. I don’t know.”
“Do you really think I’m a good actress?
” She snorts and rolls her eyes. I don’t answer.
The fact of the matter is, I don’t think she’s a good actress.
She didn’t play a good FBI agent in the bakery, and I doubt she could fake it now.
Her emotions are all over her face every single time we have a conversation.
But I am not going to tell her everything that just went through my mind.
An idea comes to me, an idea that I think can be very beneficial and fun.
Though I'm going to have to play it carefully so as not to make her suspicious.